Increasingly, you feel yourself going deeper and deeper into life. You can’t put your finger on it, yet you feel this to be true. You like this idea. You are enlivened by this idea. At the same time, you are at the same shaken by it.

Sometimes you feel that you float in life. That you don’t touch base. How you would love to. As it is, words pop up from somewhere – it must be from somewhere within you, yet how? Why? And must they?

Now that you think of it, where are words stored anyway. There are words, often names, that you know very well, and cannot pull the word up at the moment, try as you may, and then some words you consciously would not want to draw out, not important to you, don’t matter to you – and, yet, here they come spilling out.

They lurked somewhere within you, but where? How did they get there?

What is remembering about anyway?

Honestly, you wonder what memory is for. Of course, you do see its worth when you want to make your mother’s recipe for pea and barley soup. You would like to have that recipe on the tip of your tongue.

In terms of life, you remember a detail here and there that you had forgotten about, and what is all this for? What is any of it for, you ache to know. Why do certain thoughts pop up when they do? Sometimes thoughts pop up that you wish wouldn’t.

Is remembering no more than stuffing a rag doll? Is remembering only a filler, and why do you care?

Sometimes your mind feels crowded, and your house too.

You have a crowd of memories, and some seem useless and unfulfilling. Sure, there are thoughts you would like to pull out, yet you have no system. Do you have mental file cabinets and colorful folders?

Even if you knew where they are, what orderly use could you make of them anyway?

Are there shelves to put boxes of memories on?

This isn’t the first time you have wondered about when you leave Earth, where do your memories go, the poignant memories as well as how to spell a difficult word.

Then there are the cry-worthy memories. May they go in peace.

It is all water under the bridge.

With all that is going on in the world, why are memories on your mind now?

You would rather invent something new for the good of the world or to rewrite your life as fiction, which I have told you that life really is in the first place. You might wish you had kept a record of all the great books you have read though you never did.

You could fill a wheelbarrow of your memories – yet where would you dump them?

In some respects, you would like to rewrite this life you are walking through now, when it gets right down to it, what would you undo? Embarrassment? Ignorance? Love unrequited? Would you really change the other characters in your script? What would you cross out when it comes down to it? Whom would you add – a fairy Godmother? What would you dare to erase? What hem would you take up? Where would you find the dress anyway? It all seems like too much trouble.

You also wonder what your next life will be like? What would your new name be? What work will you do? Where will you live? In what country? You ask yourself wordlessly in which country would you want to live. Actually, you’re glad you don’t have to think of it. You have too much on your mind as it is.